Chapter 8
There was something peculiar about him, thought Molly, looking at the tall, lean and ramrod-straight German who had, moments ago, left her table and was now standing at the bar. There was nothing wrong with him physically. In fact, Fritz Lauder was really rather attractive, even if he didn't smile very often. But he acted in a way which sent little chills up her spine.
Was her imagination playing tricks on her? Such just might be the case, Molly realized, her eyes leaving Lauder to wander about the musty, dimly-lit night club, and its intriguing inhabitants, a number of whom were in garish attire.
Maybe there was something peculiar with her for having decided to visit West Berlin's red-light district, and for stepping into this particular club. There were a number of others in the immediate vicinity, none of which looked at sinister and outrageously decadent as this one. Yet, she had elected to take a look in here. Why?
Simply because from the outside it looked so sinister, and decadent, Molly told herself, answering her own question. She had heard the tinny sound of a player piano from outside, and she had seen a few of the unusual people push open the heavy oaken door and enter what seemed like another World of reckless hedonism where vice was so very nice. Her curiosity had, naturally enough, been aroused.
And so she had summoned up the required nerve to walk in unescorted, and take a table in one corner of the club as all eyes, or so she thought, followed her. And what she had discovered was that the place was every bit as decadent, as joyfully sinful, on the inside, as it appeared to be from the outside.
In fact, it reeked of corruption. The twenty or so people gathered here tonight were steeped in sin, it seemed, and in love with lust.
She had noticed right off, Molly remembered, that the people here didn't smile friendly smiles. They smiled lewdly, gleefully, and that same suggestion of wickedness framed their laughter. And Fritz was no different. Maybe that was why he made her nervous.
"So, I am back again, my pretty one," said a firm, authoritative voice, intruding on Molly's thoughts.
Startled, the runaway housewife looked up and to her right. Her eyes had been searching the crowd, and she had not noticed the former army officer's return. Quickly regaining her composure, she smiled and said, "Oh, there you are. I was wondering if you had planned not to return."
"Now, why would I do a thing like that?" asked Lauder, settling himself in the wooden chair with the curved back across from Molly.
"I'm sure you could find someone more interesting to talk to."
"I find you interesting, Molly Lawford," declared the dark-eyed, square-jawed German.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Because I'm a new face, I suppose."
"Because you are an American. A beautiful American woman. Somewhat spoiled, or course, and rather inhibited, but-"
"Inhibited?"
"That's what I said.
Molly had to grin. If he only knew, she thought, that not very long ago, she was playing ultra-naught games with a pig named Hans, he certainly wouldn't have termed her inhibited.
He might have called her something else, of course, but not inhibited. No woman who goes down on a big fat pig can be considered a blushing wallflower.
"Now, then, Molly, we will each enjoy another beer, and then take our leave," Lauder informed the raven-tressed beauty. Turning in his chair, he snapped his fingers at the nearest waiter.
"Leave? I didn't know we were going anywhere," said the surprised Molly.
"But we are, my pretty one. I want to show you my home and my, how shall I put it, my collection," said the German, smiling one of his rare smiles.
"Your collection?" asked Molly. "Collection of what?"
"We will let that be a surprise. I am sure you will find my collection most interesting."
The waiter, a plump, balding, beady-eyed man in his early fifties, arrived carrying two steins of beer on a tray. He put one of the beers down in front of Molly, the other in front of Lauder, whipped the tray up under his left arm, and departed.
"So, we drink to you, Molly Lawford, to the gods who have seen fit to bring us together, this cold, dreary night."
"To the gods," said Molly, a half smile on her face as she reached for her stein.
Wiping his mouth, with the back of his right hand, Lauder put his stein back down on the table, and started to relate some of his war experiences. Molly listened politely, if not with the greatest interest, thinking she might be able to learn a little of what Lauder was really like from his stories.
Twenty minutes later, she was still trying to read him. All she knew for a fact was that Fritz Lauder repelled her and attracted her at the same time.
He was egotistical, perhaps the most conceited man she had ever met, and there was about him an arrogance that inflamed the sensibilities.
But, and this was the strange thing, she was drawn to the very qualities she found distasteful. There was something strangely exciting about Lauder's arrogance, his obvious and unalloyed disdain for those who didn't share his views. Could it be, she wondered, that she appreciated Lauder's cockiness, his supreme self-confidence, because for so many years she was forced to endure the indecisiveness of her husband?
Fritz Lauder was capable of acts altogether perverted, of that she was certain. Evil lurked within him. He was a dangerous man, one accustomed to getting his own way at all costs. Although she had yet to see it flare, she was willing to bet that he had a fierce temper and could imagine him committing crimes of great violence.
Yes, he frightened her, Molly admitted to herself. If she had any sense, she would get up, pretend she was off to the ladies room, and then make tracks for the door and the comparative safety of the streets. But she couldn't gather the strength for the effort.
Something was keeping her here, forcing her to remain in this decadent place, with its strange and sinister occupants. A small voice in one corner of her mind was telling her to watch it, to be careful if she didn't want to find herself in a whole lot of trouble.
But the idea of trouble, of courting danger, held an eerie fascination for her. Was it just her, Molly asked herself. Or was everyone attracted to the unknown and possibly perverted?
Lauder finished a story, and then, checking his wristwatch, announced that it was time to go.
"Drink up, Molly, then we will leave for my house."
Molly drained her stein and then set it back down on the table. This was it, she thought. She would have to make up her mind. Did she feign illness and go back to her hotel, or did she accompany Lauder to his home?
"Well, Molly, are you ready?"
"I'm not really in the habit of getting picked up like this," smiled Molly, stalling for time while she struggled with her decision.
Lauder reached across the table and placed his right hand on top of Molly's left.
"It is my firm wish that you accompany me to my home. Do not disappoint me."
Molly swallowed hard. Another chill went up her spine and her heart skipped a beat.
"I repeat. Are you ready, Molly?"
"I'm ready," stammered Molly, the words coming unbidden from her lips.
Lauder smiled. It was, Molly noted with a perverse mixture of fear and the thrill of anticipation, a lewd and wholly decadent smile.
Less than a minute later, the runaway housewife was out on the dark street, the damp night air enveloping her as she watched the fifty-ish Lauder, now in a somber, knee-length coat, attempt to hail a cab with his walking stick.
"Let me go!" wailed Molly, struggling with all her might to break the hold Lauder had on her.
There was panic in her voice and the greatest fear in her heart, for she knew now that she had made one very horrible mistake. "Let me go, dammit! I want to get out of here!"
"But you shall not leave, my pretty one," Lauder assured the frightened female he was pushing and pulling toward the padded block on legs that stood almost in the center of his fiendishly furnished basement. "You are my prisoner now. I can do with you as I wish."
"No!" Molly protested, vehemently. "Let me go, you beast."
Having had about all he could take of his captive's infuriating behavior, Lauder spun her around and sent the flat of his left hand cracking across her face. The fierce blow stunned Molly. She shrieked and fell to one knee. She was up again in a moment, however, as Lauder dragged her to her feet by her raven hair.
"Are you going to behave?" asked the furious German, glowering at his captive.
"Leave me alone," whimpered Molly.
Lauder made a fist of his right hand and slammed it into Molly's stomach. The air whooshed from Molly's lungs and she crumpled, this time falling to both knees. Clutching her stomach, she swayed side to side and gasped for breath. She was filled with loathing for the man who had taken her to this chamber of horrors, this playground for perverts.
Lauder dragged his victim to her feet again, and this time, as she swayed before him, started to remove her clothes. After yanking off the top off of her brown and gold pants suit, he ripped away the white blouse she had on underneath. Now he shoved her back down onto the floor and roughly tugged down the pants half of her attractive suit, pulling off her casual shoes and tossing them aside, before working the trousers around and off her feet.
He straightened up, and smiled down at his whimpering captive, who lay sprawled on the carpeted basement floor, clad only in bra and panties. Thinking what a good time he was going to have with this luscious wench, he started to undress, his fingers fumbling with the shiny brass buckle on his wide leather belt.
Good heavens, what was she going to do, wondered Molly, the tears running down her cheeks. She was in the evil clutches of a madman. How was she going to get out of this horrible place. Never in her life had she seen or even imagined, such a basement.
It was like something out of Count Donatien de Sade. Whips and chains of various sizes adorned the walls. In one corner was a rack, a kind used in Medieval times to stretch the truth out of recalcitrant prisoners. There was a chair in another comer, a large wooden chair which looked not unlike the kind used in certain penitentiaries before the death penalty was declared unconstitutional.
There were other, equally frightening instruments of torture around the room. While it was less sinister looking than the rest, she liked the padded block on legs, to which Lauder had been pushing her, no more than she did any of the other items in the room.
It had been his intention to throw her over the block, which resembled the horse a gymnast uses for jumping and vaulting, and beat her bottom with one of the many straps hanging on the walls. Maybe it was still his intention thought Molly, scared half to death.
When he was bare-assed naked, Lauder said, "All right, Molly Lawford, now you will suck my prick."
Molly slowly pushed herself up until she was sitting on the carpeted basement floor. She made no move, however, toward her tormentor's tool.
"Get on your knees and start sucking my cock!" Lauder ordered. "Do as I say, now! This very minute."
Knowing it would do her no good to protest, and not wishing to risk getting hit again, Molly dragged herself up onto her knees and shuffled to where the German stood glaring down at her.
Most reluctantly, she reached for his pecker. Under ordinary circumstances, Molly would probably have taken Lauder's tool into her mouth without thinking twice, she realized. He was, as she had already noted, not unattractive. Besides a smooth, even-featured face, he possessed a lean, hard body, and an appealing circumcised organ.
"What are you waiting for?" Lauder demanded to know. "Put it in your mouth and start sucking."
Trembling, Molly obeyed the obscene command, her lips parting as she stuffed the limp manhood into her oral cavity. And then she was sucking on the flaccid organ, her cheeks bloating and then deflating as she worked to stiffen that length of flesh. It occurred to her that if she did a good job, if she sucked Lauder hard, and then feigned pleasure as he plowed her pussy, he just might forget about torturing her.
With that in mind, the runaway housewife started fellating her captor with enthusiasm, as if suddenly, magically, inspired to perform to the best of her abilities. Greedily, she gobbled the fleshy root, her head weaving and bobbing constantly as she labored like one sexually aroused and determined to please.
A wicked smile appeared on Lauder's clean-shaven countenance. "Yes, you are like all the rest, Molly Lawford. Very proper on the outside, but a slut on the inside. Suck it harder, faster. Show me how much you like it, bitch."
Molly's feverish fellatio produced the desired results in no time at all. When he was rock-hard, his firm erection throbbing in Molly's mouth, Lauder cradled her head between his hands and, holding it still, started sawing his bloated weapon in and out of her moist oral cavity.
This degrading, humiliating fucking of her face angered the raven-haired beauty. But she put up with it, realizing that a humiliation far worse could be expected if she protested this one.
She could see, out of the corner of her eye, the padded black block with its four thick wooden legs.
When he grew tired fo fucking Molly's beautiful face, the sadistic German released her head and pulled his saliva-coated cock out of her mouth. Not giving his captive a chance to catch her breath, he grabbed a handful of her hair, and hauled her up to her feet.
"Now we punish you," he said gleefully, pulling Molly in the direction of the padded block.
"For sucking my cock, and for enjoying it so much, you will have to suffer the strap."
"No, please don't hit me."
"Stop that stupid sniveling, bitch."
Molly tried planting her feet firmly on the floor and pulling back, away from the dreaded horse. But that only served to bring her more pain, since Lauder had a firm grip on her hair and jerked her forward again with a vengeance every time she attempted to halt his progress.
Being much stronger than his beautiful victim, the angry German succeeded in dragging her to the padded block despite her resistance. Roughly, cruelly, he tossed her over the horse, the breath once again whooshing from Molly's lungs as she was dumped belly down on the block.
Quickly, before she could wriggle off, Lauder dropped to one knee and tied her arms and feet to the wooden legs. Then he straightened up, smiled lewdly, and went to fetch a strap.
Molly started to cry in fearful anticipation of the awful pain to come. She knew how positively obscene she must look, draped belly down over the horse like this, almost bent over double with her head down and her pantied posterior sticking up. But it wasn't the lewdness of her position that bothered her so much as it was the unnerving realization that now, since she had been securely tied to the block, and couldn't move, she was completely at the mercy of the fiendish German.
Lauder returned, bringing with him a pearl-handled rod with a half-dozen wide leather straps attached, and took up a position behind Molly, who, looking under the horse, could only see his hairless legs as he firmed his stance and made ready to lash her ass.
"Now, you will pay for acting in such a whorish manner. I will beat some respect into you. I will make you see the error of your ways."
"No, please," whined Molly, big, salty tears running down her face, to which blood was rushing. "Don't whip me. Please don't. I have done nothing to deserve this."
"You are a whore! A stupid slut!"
"I'm not," insisted Molly. "You're wrong, all wrong!"
"I am never wrong, Molly Lawford."
"You're insane. You're a madman!" wailed Molly.
"What? What did you call me?"
Molly realized immediately that the outburst prompted by her helplessness and frustration, was a large mistake.
She regretted it as much as she had anything in her life. Not that it mattered in the long run. She was to get whipped anyway, regardless of what she said. But calling Lauder a lunatic had, she feared, hurried the inevitable thrashing.
Molly was right. Incensed at being labeled a nut, Lauder, his face crimson with rage, hauled off and let his captive have it without further delay. The wide leather straps sliced through the air and curled around Molly's upturned and altogether vulnerable derriere.
The raven-haired beauty shrieked, the sudden pain at her ass spreading to all parts of her body in seconds flat. She struggled at her bonds, her wrists and ankles rubbing against the straps holding them to the thick legs of the block.
"There is more to come, you bitch!" roared Lauder.
Again, he drew the punishing instrument up over his right shoulder, took dead aim on his victim's taut behind, and sent the thick brown straps slashing against Molly's poor posterior. Again Molly rent the air with a scream.
"I will make you sorry you are such a pig," said Lauder, spitting out the words. "I will teach you manners."
"Oh, please," sobbed Molly, "don't hit me anymore. I can't take the-"
"Hurts, does it? Good. It should hurt, my pretty whore."
"No more, please," groaned the runaway housewife, her silky black tresses hanging straight down around her head and trailing over the basement floor. "The pain is killing me."
Lauder laughed sadistically. "So your ass hurts. That is good. I will make it hurt a little more."
"No, I beg you. Aiiee!"
With fiendish delight, Lauder lashed his helpless, sobbing victim, a cruel gleam in his eye as he wielded the whip like one possessed. Again and again, he lashed Molly's agony-soaked behind, slicing to ribbons her flimsy pants, which provided precious little protection from the horrible whip. She was tied down and helpless against the attack of the slashing straps.
The searing pain was like nothing Molly had ever experienced or cared to experience in the future. He was slashing her ass to ribbons, making strips of bleeding flesh out of what once had been a creamy-smooth, nicely rounded bottom, she thought dazedly, the sheer agony of it all clouding her mind.
She waited for, prayed for the blessed relief of unconsciousness. But, much to her dismay, she didn't pass out. Some demon inside her kept her conscious, forcing her to suffer through all thirty lashes administered with such relish by her diabolical captor.
Molly's spirits went up just a fraction when Lauder threw away the whip and untied her. Had she known what the sadistic German had in mind when he pulled her limp body off the horse, and threw her roughly to the floor, where she landed with a thump, belly down, the runaway housewife's feeble hope of escaping further abuse would have been squashed under the weight of an enormous despair.
Seconds after she hit the floor, Lauder pounced on her and with a single tearing motion of his right hand, ripped from her horribly abused ass, the remnants of her panties. Then he was roughly prying apart the cheeks of her flaming, bleeding bottom, and digging his still fully-erect prick into her niggardly nether hole.
"No-Noo-" moaned Molly, making a feeble but courageous attempt to thwart the penetration of her posterior by bring one hand back to that now unsightly part of her anatomy. There had been times during her travels when the idea of letting some handsome man sodomize her had crossed her mind. But she didn't want to be broken in this way-not by a madman whom she despised and whose only aim was to degrade and humiliate her.
"Now, the real fun begins, Molly Lawford," snarled Lauder, the bulbous head of his throbbing cock pushing hard against the resisting ring of pinkish-brown flesh that was his captive's anus.
"You will be fucked in the ass until you are screaming."
"Please, have mercy," begged Molly. "Oh, please-"
The piteous pleas of the pain-drenched beauty went for nought.
A heathenish wail of mind-muddling pain tore from her throat, as Lauder lunged against her poor behind and sent his thick prick ripping into her rectum. It was as if a white-hot poker had suddenly been thrust into her bottom.
Ignoring the heartbreaking sobs of the woman under him, the demonic German started reaming her rectum, his bloated manhood a meaty cudgel as it stirred her turds with a vengeance. Again and again he thrust into Molly's already tortured backside, deriving perverse pleasure from the feel of her clammy back passage.
Molly clawed the carpet with her nails, as tears of shame and pain streaked down her face.
The fiendish fucking of her fanny went on and on, and it occurred to the runaway housewife, as she suffered the agony and degradation of this cruel sodomizing, that it would be nice, so very nice, to be back home in Springvale, with her family.
But Lauder had no mercy. He took great delight in sawing his flaming tool in and out of the luscious young lovely's behind. Not a bad ass for an older woman, he thought.
But Molly was completely oblivious to Lauder's precise German ruminations. She could only feel her backside burning like hell from the lashing Lauder had given her, and feel the width of his massive tool as it plunged in and out of her virgin asshole. She really didn't think it was so much fun, in fact, it burned like hell, but then again she didn't have a prostrate, so how would she know?
She just lay over the, place where he had so cruelly thrown her and felt the force of that bizarre sadist's mammoth pole. She hoped he didn't rip anything. Crying and pleading for him to stop, she was unconsciously at the same time trying to get up, turn around, do something.
Apparently, Lauder found this stimulating, and he began to buck harder, drawing his plunging pecker out to the edge of her ass ring, and then back in along her little rosebud of beauty and those tight, undulating walls until he slammed up her ass to his balls. He did this a number of times and started breathing very heavily and screaming out cuss words to Molly in German.
Then the sadist Lauder began to come. Load after load gushed out of his bloated prick and he began to slap her thighs hard, and yell "Take it all, American, bitch. Take my load up your ass. I would not touch your feeble, mushy, steaming cabbage of a cunt anymore!"
Loads of hot, gooey, sticky white come poured into Molly's ass, sending her turds on a sea voyage. When he finally pulled out, streams of the stuff came out, too. It hung for a while in gobs in the area around her ass hole, and then, like spittle, strung out and dropped off on to her thighs and calves.
Molly was all sticky and messy. She was mad and her asshole felt like it had been fucked by an emory board. Her hair had been sweeping around on the basement floor and it was tangled and knotted and dirty. She was sweaty and smelly and her whole backside was covered with lashes. No, she thought, I really don't feel very good.
Apparently, Lauder had gotten all he could get off the bitch. He wiped his cock off with some facial tissues he kept around the whipping room for just that purpose, stepped into his military gear, and saluted Molly. "Well, Fraulein Molly," he said, "now you have had a good taste of my, shall we say, discipline. Whether you liked it or not, I don't know. Personally, I couldn't care less. However, I think a little more discipline would do you good, then perhaps I'll consider letting you go."
Molly just looked at him in fear.
"The first thing now," he said, "is for you to give me a champagne blow job."
"What is that?" said Molly.
"First, you pull my zipper down with your teeth, Fraulein, and then I'll tell you."
Molly got to her knees on the floor. She of course couldn't sit up, because her ass was a mass of welts, stripes and sticky come.
Lauder walked over to her and shoved his crotch towards her face. He had just finished getting a bottle of the old bubbly from the refridgerator. Molly pulled his zipper with her teeth, slowly and painfully working it down until his prick was beginning to bulge into sight.
There was a ringing of the buzzer upstairs.
"Ah," exclaimed Lauder, "I almost forgot. Molly, you will enjoy this. Some friends of mine, colleagues, shall we say, told me they would visit me tonight. How nice I have you as a surprise for them'.' He grabbed her long dark hair and at this point dragged the now submissive Molly to the wall, where he manacled her legs and arms to it.
"We all belong," he called back as he began to ascend the stairs, "to an organization known as the Tough Shit Institute." He took the steps two at a time, and as far as Molly could hear, greeted the guests and immediately led them downstairs. Here he asked them their pleasure of alcoholic beverages, and as the three guests, two men and a woman, looked Molly over with a sadistic gleam in their eyes, he continued his spiel.
"Tough Shit Institute signifies this," and he indicated himself and the other three. "It is an organization of individuals dedicated to the idea that personal pleasure, and personal pleasure alone, is the backbone of the world. Underlings are to be used merely for pleasure. May I introduce Norbert Klinger, Jake Birdman and G.H. Bogard, known fondly as The Slime Queen.
"We have begun to infiltrate the English-speaking world as well as Germany. Soon we will conquer the whole world. We do this by introducing many of our own ideas and concepts into the general reading matter of the public at large. We do this by writing pornographic materials, introducing our own fantasies (of course however, from the masochistic point of view) to the readers of obscene literature. They develop these fantasies for themselves, gradually, and" then we find it easy to control them. Once you have a person's sexual being under your thumb, why, anything is possible.
"Middle class business men, older women, young teenaged boys and girls will begin to think in terms of being used and abused. Why, all of the material our infiltrating spies write shows the degradation, by the powerful male, of some lovely little woman. Of course, The Slime Queen is an exception, who can expunge her sexual perversities onto other creatures."
At this point, Birdman walked up to the shackled Molly and stuck his hand up her cunt and proceeded to wiggle his fingers around as he continued the conversation.
"Look Molly," Jake said as he flicked her clit and Molly began to squirm around on his fingers, "just get into loving this. Just get into those hands, working with analytical pleasure on your cunt lips. Forget I'm consciously touching you to produce a desired effect. Does this turn you on? I can feel you creaming on my fingers. You must have read some of my books, because you're certainly having the proscribed reaction. Do you like to read fuck books?"
"Ye-yesss," sighed Molly "I love it. I love it. Do with me what you will. Rub your fingers all over me. I'm just a housewife on a liberation trip. But I don't want to be liberated. Feed me Spanish fly! Bring on the pigs! Grab my hair and pull me around the room! But don't take your fingers out of my pulsating pink pussy. Feel my quivering mound. Ah, ah I'm going to come." At this point she passed out from the strength of a finger-induced orgasm. It really didn't matter how she did it, as long as it was a real, strong man at her pulsating cunt. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
In her mind's eye, she could see rows after row of big stiff staffs. Thousands and thousands of ten-inch long, two inch wide cocks. Cocks with purple heads, cocks with red, brown and yellow. Hooked ones, straight ones, blunt ones, pointed ones, veiny ones, smooth ones-she loved them all.
Cocks covered with come, cocks covered with saliva-dripping, running, glistening with pre-come-Oh Lord Molly loved it. Why, she might even get into a vibrating dildoes!
Norbert Klinger was watching from the corner. Now he came over to her for some action. "How about a third orgasm?" he leered.
Molly was only too happy to oblige. She could now see her goal in life-to have every orifice rubbed raw with pleasure. "Take me!" she sighed.
And that he did. With a mighty rip his pants were around his ankles, and with a shout, he shoved his massive mauler up her rosy pink hole. "Ughh, ughh! Will this ever give me material for my stories! In and out, in and out, more, more, more!" he screamed in wild abandon. "If only my friends from Cleveland could see me now!"